Morphing of a Mirror
by WerewolvesAreReal
Summary: Spock of the ISS Enterprise contemplates the encounter during "Mirror, Mirror", and makes a decision. '...without his consent the seed of the half-formed thought spread its roots unnoticed in his mind, and an idea that would shake the Empire was born…'
1. Chapter 1

**See, I keep telling myself I need to work on my other stories… And then, here I am. Sigh. Mirror-verse is addicting. And I fear that this will be an epic-length mirror verse…**

**This isn't related to any of my other mirror-verse fics, by the way. A possible sequel to 'A Two-Way Mirror' is in the works, but this is unrelated.**

**I'm not sure how much I'll be working on this; but, I like it, so I thought I might as well post the first chapter. In any case, I write mirror-verse pretty swift, so hopefully an update won't be long in coming. ****J**

**Disclaimer; I do not own Star Trek, nor any of the characters, ideas, technologies, or other materials within.**

* * *

><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

* * *

><p>How had it come to this?<p>

Spock stared at the meditation flame before him, wrestling with the question, unable to find an answer. Hundreds of scenarios, possibilities, and probabilities whirled throughout his mind.

How had it come to this?

He was First Officer of the ISS Enterprise, flagship of the feared Terran Empire. He had achieved this position by helping then - First Officer James Kirk assassinate Captain Pike, and had been widely acclaimed, cursed, and admired as one of the most ruthless, efficient, and dangerous men in the Empire.

How had it come to this?

More importantly, _why?_

He shook his head.

He doubted he would ever know, but still, it troubled him.

Just earlier in the day, several members of the crew had been replaced by their counterparts from an alternate universe - counterparts who, though they had fooled the crew for a time, were evidently much more _gentle _than those of his universe. Counterparts who came from a 'Federation of Planets', a democratic-republic. Counterparts who cared for their colleagues' well-being and stuck together and tried, though they had no investment in his universe, to save the lives of the Halkans at great risk to their own ruse.

Counterparts who had spared _his _life.

_Why?_

Why had their universe been… _that… _and why was his so _cruel?_

Theoretically, of course, every possible decision was played out in every possible combination throughout the myriad of universes that existed. So, such a cruel world as his was inevitable in some universes. But what had occurred to diverge those two so dramatically? What crucial difference in the timeline had forged the other Vulcan to pacifists, and his to callous warriors? Had turned the humans he knew to conquerors, and in the other universe, explorers?

What had made that doctor save his life?

And what had resulted in such differences of character that his captain, against his advice, had killed the Halkans…?

Spock was not a cruel individual, but neither could he afford to appear weak; he distanced himself from all matters and remained strictly objective. It was part of the reason he made such a superior First Officer.

But Kirk, raging over the injuries his ego had taken in the other universe, had for once not even taken his advice into consideration. He made his reports about the transporter incident, and the 'intruders', and then he exterminated the entirety of the Halkan race - his diligent first officer at his shoulder.

Had his universe missed some crucial event in history, some missing piece that would have led them to the epiphany that would allow peace to reign?

And was there any way to change what was - or was the vision he had glimpsed beyond reach forever?

He stared into the flames, brooding. Oh, there had always been some few dissidents who clamored for a more peaceful system. Never anything so dramatic as the Federation he had glimpsed in the mind of McCoy, but nonetheless, hopefuls existed. Of course, those few were usually hunted down and killed for heresy, or at the least scorned for weak, mewling fools.

Citizens of the Empire had a multitude of arguments for effectiveness of the Empire. Surely theirs was the only way that would work? Surely no government could exist in _democracy, _in peace - to keep away their foes, the Empire needed to be strong, and most importantly, they needed to conquer, expand. They would be destroyed otherwise, the Empire told its citizens. They would all die if any 'weakness' were shown.

But Spock knew something they did not - because he had _seen _the Federation, if second-hand. He had seen peace, and its potential had to live still - if only people could be made to see it!

But others could not see the mind of that alternate-McCoy, and they could not know that vision. And certainly no one spoke against the Empire. Anyone who could truly hope to gain a following while vying for peace would be summarily executed.

The concept of a _martyr, _as he had seen in the mind of alternate-McCoy, was alien to him. Such a person would merely be labeled too weak to protect themselves in his world - as had happened many times over the centuries.

So, no one to speak, no way to change… And the Empire would continue to grow, continue to conquer, and grow ever more cruel in their quest for power. Whisperings of future plans filled him with an alien dread. There was talk that a eugenics program was in the planning, finally a return to the failed experiments of the 1990's. Khan was greatly admired through the Empire, and many yearned to match his power and influence, to help them show Terran supremacy and master other races.

A bioweapon was in the making to exterminate the Klingons.

Weapons to influence weather were being formed to be used as weapons against impoverished, low-tech worlds.

A force was being sent to wipe out a newly-discovered race who had greeted them in peace - because the Federation wanted an outpost there.

Atrocities, everywhere - and looming in the future he saw nothing but the cold maw of death reaching for the galaxy.

…

…

Unless…

No. It was a foolish thought. Spock shook his head. His skin crawled. It was heresy to even _think _of it, but…

Exhaling sharply, he returned to meditation.

But, in the back of his mind, the idea however there, and without his consent the seed of the half-formed thought spread its roots unnoticed in his mind, and an idea that would shake the Empire was born…

* * *

><p>Roughly a month after the Halkan massacre, an event happened that shocked and outraged the Empire.<p>

News broadcasters screamed for the treasonous individual responsible to be apprehended; top experts in technology were brought in to trace the disruption; the Empire vowed to execute the heretic who dared insult and challenge the might of the Terran Empire, and swore he would suffer publicly before that end.

It seemed quite a bit of a fuss, for just a page of text.

On broadcasts and computers all across the Empire, a page appeared, popping up over the appropriate, government-approved information. It was unknown how the perpetrator had managed the feat; a phenomenal skill in hacking must have been required, and it was theorized that the individual must have access to secure communications resources of high-clearance to be able access systems so far throughout the galaxy, and coordinate them all, somehow.

Not only that, but on the few old-fashioned newspapers, the page also managed to somehow get published. A few papers found the error and halted production, but most were baffled.

And, without the consent of the Empire, the vines of the seed that had been planted in one mind reached out and entwined itself with billions.

* * *

><p><em>During the beginning of the nineteenth century, the infamous heretic Mohandas Ghandi began accumulating followers who sought to gain Indian independence. However, Ghandi did not raise armies, nor assassinate his enemies, nor even discredit them - instead, he peacefully protested.<em>

_In the year 1948, Mohandas Ghandi was finally captured and publicly executed by his government, for trying to avoid harming anyone._

_Ghandi is, today, a well-known villain in Terran history - but little is said about his precise practices. The Empire calls him weak, cowardly, and says that he desired to destroy the entire essence of humanity. He was declared a dangerous radical - because he killed no one. _

_His readings are, of course, banned. Biographies do not exist; he is no more than briefly mentioned in history, because of his 'dangerous' ideas - and yet every child knows his name. Why is this? People know his name, and _remember _his name, because of his ideas - because, vaguely described as they are, some part of every individual recognizes the inherent _worth_ of those ideas. Some shy from the thought; some grow wrathful; others righteously criticize; and some, though they are never free to admit it, feel longing and sorrow - sorrow for what might have been._

_I have read his forbidden works. Peace, democracy...Admirable concepts, though I cannot claim to follow Ghandi's teachings. "There are many causes that I am prepared to die for," he said, "but no causes that I am prepared to kill for."_

_I have killed. I will not deny that. But never with pleasure, and often, after fulfilling my duty, I wonder at the waste of life - wonder at what petty reasons my superiors have to warrant the murder of another being, and wonder how any person can conceive that they have the _right _to deprive others of life._

_Ten years ago, the gentle, slow-witted people of Calatara IV were slaughtered for denying the Empire. Five years ago, the harmless, agrarian society of the Kelesshians was bombed from existence; many survived the initial attacks only to suffer slow, agonizing deaths from radiation poisoning - many of which the Empire's medicines could have halted - and the few survivors were consigned as slaves. A month ago, the Halkans, a pacifistic, low-tech race - no threat to the Empire, for they were not even concerned with space travel - found their cities leveled for refusing to give up their dilithium. The reason they refused to give dilithium? To even trade? The Halkans refused Starfleet solely for one reason - the dilithium would be used to power starships, and weapons, and would result in deaths. Even if their defiance would effect nothing, they decided to die for their beliefs._

_There are thousands of such instances I could is why I have begun this paper - not to bring to light these horrors, which are public knowledge, but to defy them, and the fear the Empire incites by such acts. We must all be advocates for peace, if only in our own minds. _

_I write this paper because I do not want to live in this Empire - but, more than that, I cannot bear the thought of others _dying _in this Empire._

_I write this paper because the Empire has beaten down her people, and while I am confident that many share my longings, they will not dare show it - and if they did, their attempts, noble though they may be, would result in death._

_I, also, am no Ghandi. I will not walk through the streets in protest, only to have assassins on my heels. But I will tell you the truth, and hope that, in knowing you are not alone, you will gain the courage to work toward a better life._

_Life is full of potential. I think often, lately, of what could be. I envision a democracy that stretches through the stars, with allied planets who do not scheme and plot but are _true _allies, who assist each other and give aid; I see a peaceful galaxy of plenty, where slavery is abolished, where poverty is abolished, where murder is met not with praise but penalty, and execution is outlawed. I envision a _democracy, _where all races have say in the running of government, wherein we choose our leaders and they work _for _the people, for the benefit of all._

_We will explore the galaxy, in search of allies and technology - and when races want nothing to do with us, we shall agree and seek out only their friendship, and even when rebuffed celebrate our differences._

_We will preach tolerance, acceptance, and in our cooperation flourish in all areas, including technologies, medicines, and the humanities - art, music, philosophy._

_Fear will vanish. Crimes will decrease. Corruption will be scoured from the planets of that democracy, and if any threat comes to the peace, it will be met honorably, and defied in the name of preservation of peace, not supremacy of the Empire. _

_This seems a lofty vision, I know - especially as I have not, of yet, said how this vision shall pass. I shall continue to write, and explain - but, for now, I give one more quote from the venerable Ghandi, for all those who have not been able to know his works, and ask that you give it heavy consideration, for in these simple words lie the key to the dissolution of the Empire._

"_You must be the change you wish to see in the world."_

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Best part about mirror verse is, I can totally rewrite whatever historical anecdotes I use for this to fit the purpose. :P But, I can't claim the idea; it was briefly mentioned in David Mack's wonderful mirror-universe book "The Sorrows of Empire" (which I highly recommend you all go read immediately) that the work of Ghandhi was among the restricted books; reading his works could be punished with death. That sort of inspired this, because I realized I can totally twist and distort history in the mirror-universe, and I'm running with the thought and can't stop.**

**(Seriously, read that book. Spock goes bad-ass and takes over the Empire - and not in the pacifist-way my story is heading. It's creepy and full of murderous politics and moral dilemmas and character angsting and is, in summary, amazing).**


	2. Chapter 2

**Well, apparently I can write mirror verse at a decent speed - that's something. Also, thanks to reviewers from last chapter! :)**

**Disclaimer; I do not own Star Trek, nor any of the characters, ideas, technologies, or other materials within.**

* * *

><p>Chapter 1<p>

* * *

><p>"Any luck, Commander?"<p>

"As of yet, I have nothing of relevance to report, Sir. I can say, however, that the individual who accomplished this feat was clearly a computer expert. He or she has left no visible traces - not even an indication as to the originating site of the program."

Kirk grunted. "I don't see what the Admiralty were thinking, anyway," he grumbled. "What's the fuss with this guy? We don't have time for dealing with some idiot preaching about peace and rainbows, however good a hacker he is. Make your report and get back to work."

"Yes, Sir."

* * *

><p>As of yet, the tumult resulting from his actions focused primarily on the fact that he had managed to sabotage so many interplanetary communication broadcasts; the actual message had added to the outrage, due to its talk of dissolution, but the Empire viewed him essentially as no less than a rambling dissident, albeit one with more technical knowledge than was average. And, indeed, why should they consider him a threat?<p>

He was gratified to find that there remained no speculation as to the species of the individual responsible for the event. He had been sorely tempted to simply present, logically, his view supporting a peaceful dissolution of the Empire, but that thought had been quickly discarded, for several reasons. The most obvious was that it would rather blatantly proclaim his origin as Vulcan; but, more importantly, he recognized that such an approach would ultimately end in failure. Humans, Andorians, Tellarites, Trill, Medusans, Caitians, Betazoids - whatever their many differences, one prevailing aspect of Empire-members was that they listened to _emotion, _with the glaring exception of his own race. Logic would not fire the blood their blood or fill them with the righteous desire to effect change. He knew very well that Vulcans had tried to invoke change before, pointing to the inevitable fall of the Empire as support, but always they were found and executed; furthermore, they only ever gained their scant support among his own people. If he desired to truly affect the Empire, he must appeal to the hearts of every segment of the galaxy.

Unfortunately, it was doubtful that he could accurately repeat the feat; it was risky, whatever his technical skills, and he could expect the Empire to tighten its restrictions on broadcasts now… though, perhaps he had time for one more?

But it didn't matter if it couldn't be duplicated soon; the first and most vital part of the spectacle had been accomplished. He had not meant to change any long-standing ideologies and lifestyles with that one paper; indeed, he very much doubted any would be unduly affected by it. However, the dramatic nature of the piece, which resulted in Empire-wide attention, had brought notice which would otherwise be impossible.

Now he just had to use that attention to manipulate the hearts of the public.

But, perhaps he should make sure the Empire was paying attention…

* * *

><p><strong>Two Weeks Later<strong>

_At an Empire broadcasting studio_

Les Naol, a Rigellian, yawned with boredom as he monitored the mostly automatic program. He glanced at a clock with disinterest. Almost 1900 - good. The Empire had mandated that they release the latest propaganda, a video featuring the culture of the Empire's latest enemy. The Unneiks had recently denied the Empire foray into their space. Actually, their planet was boring - it had no minerals or natural resources of any use to the Empire - but, the other planets in the system _were _valuable, and the Unneiks were refusing them admittance to the entire star system - quite stubbornly. As they had no strong weapons - they had only just achieved warp 1, to put it in perspective - the conclusion was obvious. Two ships had been dispatched and were prepared to decimate the planet within the week.

Naol was unsure why any propaganda was needed, if the race would be extinct within a week or two, for why should the public care about a quick conflict? But, he supposed that was why he was technician, not a politician.

That, and because he liked his neck where it was, thank you.

1900. Uninterested, he turned his attention to the video rolling across the screen, watching for issues but not expecting any.

* * *

><p><em>Lord Mrego's manor, on Rigel III<em>

Lord Mrego, an especially rotund example of the Rigellian species, waited while his attendant brought him his evening meal, beak-like mouth clacking in impatience *. With his meal before him, he settled down, and turned his attention to the Empire-approved broadcast he was watching.

Mrego loved the government programs. There was something wonderfully patriotic, watching the barbaric enemies of the Empire, and knowing their end. It boiled his blood, filling him with enthusiasm and zeal. A bloodlust came upon him at those times, and Mrego _liked _that. He wondered what the special would show about the newest talked-of enemy, the Unneiks.

The recorded image of a svelte Andorian _shen _came on screen. Hir green-blue antennae wiggled, as if in greeting, and zhe nodded proudly to the camera.

"Today we will showing our people the image of our enemy - the Unneiks. Many of you conscientious citizens will undoubtedly have heard of this fiendish race, but we believe in making certain that all our people are aware any and all threats to our glorious sovereignty. Therefore, the Empire has graciously deigned for us to present an insight into their culture.

"With this presentation, we hope to allow the Empire's people to understand the nature of her enemy."

The _shen _saluted. Zhe had no idea just how ironic hir words would later seem - or how they would lead to an inquiry and hir death.

On the vid screen a slow image of a lovely ocean rolled into view, soon morphing to the visage of a sprawling, elegant city.

* * *

><p><em>At an Empire broadcasting studio<em>

Naol frowned at the screen, then shrugged. He didn't remember this part of the video, but then who could tell? He'd watched ridiculous amounts of footage on his job - after a time it all just started to blur together. Shaking his head, he wandered away from his post to get a drink.

* * *

><p><em>Mrego's manor, on Rigel III<em>

Mrego bit into a rancid-smelling fish. His attendant leaned against the doorframe as he awaited any further instructions, watching the program.

On the vid screen, the image zoomed in on the center of the huge metropolis. As if in contrast to the relatively modern buildings, a table, surrounded by a ring of chairs, lay in the open upon a green; the rest of the city seemed to be built around that area.

Seated at the head of the table were three individuals, one representing each of the three sexes of the Unneiks. Their purple fur, ranging from a gentle lavender to a dark, velvety hue, gave them a sleek appearance, and each was fitted in regal, dignified blue garments, robes whose ends touched the bluish grass.

Around the rest of the table sat twenty-four other Unneiks, similarly garbed. Behind each set of eight was splayed a banner. One portrayed a curious cat-like creature; another a blooming flower; the last, a flame reaching from a torch to sear the sky.

Finally, a grey-robed Unneik - who looked female, though that was debatable - stood at the opposite end of the table from the three.

The throng of listeners standing at distance from the tables hushed as she spoke.

"I, Dhãllan of Marsatress, 49th advisor to the Annointed Trio, do hereby call to order the 328th annual Consultation…"

A narrator began speaker over her voice. "The international government of our planet is led by representatives from each of the three continents, Islatrec, Rarnitr, and Elleskatre. Eight representatives of each are elected for life, though any individual may be recalled by their state at any time by popular vote of their constituents, which may occur by national order, inquiry, or petition…"

* * *

><p><em>At an Empire Broadcasting Studio<em>

Naol returned to his seat, sighing happily as he gulped down the caffeinated drink. His job could be tedious at times. He glanced at the screen with disinterest - then did a double-take.

He did _not _remember _this _part of the video…

* * *

><p><em>Lord Mrego's Manor, on Rigel III<em>

"…the Anointed Trio are each elected to head their respective nations in the council, and, likewise, serve for life or until recalled - although it is more common for these members to retire, or at least step to a lower position, in their older years. Usually, one of the Annointed Trio will take the place of the advisor, and direct the next members in their duties…"

Mrego stared at the screen, not really interested but more than a little bemused. Where were the barbarians? The bloodshed? The rousing cries of 'glory to the Empire'? This seemed like some documentary - hardly a usual piece of Empire-propoganda.

Mrego did not realize that much of the Unneik's historical files - including this child learning-video about the Unneik government - had been downloaded by the _Lexington _some months ago. Easy enough to access, for someone in Starfleet.

"Tradition dictates that the public may, of course, attend all meetings of the council, and under certain circumstances may address the council…"

The image began to fade.

That introduction out of the way, a different video came to the screen - one _not _so readily available to the public, Starfleet officers included, unless one had especially adept hacking skills…

A newly-promoted Starfleet officer, Captain Estebon, was potrayed. He stood, chin held haughtily, as his dark eyes swept over the assemblage. Fourteen security officers stood behind him, phasers ready. Standing back, the watching citizens seemed unusually solemn.

"I don't believe you understand what you're saying," Estebon said.

"We do," said the male-ish member of the Trio. "The council is unanimous; the planets in this system are rightfully ours. Colonization efforts have already begun, and our third planet is a valuable mining site…"

"Precisely. Which is why the Empire had laid claim to it."

"We mean you no harm, and are willing to trade," he protested. "And there is no claim to be made - "

"Do you think that matters? Shut up. If you truly want to 'benefit' your people, as you've been going on about all day, you'll sign over the planet, keep your heads down, and recall your colonists. Those planets belong to the Empire now."

A pair of orange eyes blinked at him slowly. "We will defend what is ours," he said, almost sadly.

"You will die."

The Unneik did not respond.

Estebon waited, then grunted. "Fine. No matter to me. If you have any gods, I suggest you get to praying - the world you're standing on will be ash in a few month's time."

He flipped out his communicator. "Ensign - beam us up."

A shimmering blue light came over the Starfleet officers.

Right before it consumed them, each security officer held out their sidearms and pressed the trigger.

Fourteen council members fell to the ground, dead.

The video crackled; screams erupted. Whoever was filming seemed to be caught in the writhing of a shocked and horrified crowd.

The screen went dark.

* * *

><p><em>At an Empire Broadcasting Studio<em>

That was definitely _not _part of the program.

Desperately, Naol rushed about the room, trying to halt the broadcast. All attempts failed. At last, desperately, he bolted from the room, weaving through the mostly-empty building, until he reached a small chamber. From there he shut down all power to the studio.

Or tried to.

"_Access denied," _the computer told him helpfully.

"What? Why?" Naol cried, shocked.

The computer made a haughty sniffing sound. _"There is no need to be rude."_

* * *

><p><em>Lord Megro's manor, on Rigel III<em>

"**And now," **read the words appearing on screen, **"I return you to the Empire-approved retelling of the Unneik culture."**

There was a pause. The screen was black. Then, more words rolled across, glaring white against the background.

"**Sections of a popular Unneik horror-movie, placed roughly three thousand years ago, have been utilized for the upcoming program. While generally regarded as unrealistic, some Unneiks enjoy the movie greatly."**

Mockingly; **"Have a pleasant watching."**

Mrego stared at the screen blankly.

Blaring, savage music assaulted his ears as the screen depicted a group of blood-drenched savages running through overrun-forests.

"_The Unneiks,"_ an authoritative voice declared, _"have defied the will of the Empire. This savage race of people responded violently to any attempts to meet with them, and have been declared enemies by…"_

Mrego frowned.

"Something you wanted, my lord?" the attendant prompted.

"…No. No." He frowned uneasily. "…Just, turn that damn thing off, hrmm?" Grunting, he snatched his plate.

"And get some more fish!"

* * *

><p><em>On the Enterprise<em>

" - should be a quick mission, in other words," Kirk concluded. "It's a minor rebellion - just in a damn difficult place. But I expect us to be off this planet within two days - understood?"

His glare made it clear what answer he expected, and there were quick murmurs of assent.

"Dismissed."

The officers filed out of the briefing room. Spock remained, instead approaching the captain.

"Spock?" The captain questioned.

"Might I ask, Sir, if we will be investigating the recent events that occurred on Rigel III? It is my understanding that Starfleet will be heading the matter."

Kirk shook his head. "No - assigning a few scientists to run through possibilities on-ship is one thing, but posting a ship is an entirely different matter. They're not stupid enough to post a constitution-class over a member planet that long - _better _not be, anyway." He frowned. "Why the interest?"

"While our previous investigations ended in failure, it was a possibility that Starfleet would request further assistance," said Spock stiffly.

Kirk's lips twitched. "Ah. Bruised pride, Commander? Feel you have something to prove?"

Spock just looked at him stonily.

Kirk chuckled, seeming significantly cheered. Clapping his First Officer on the shoulder - a move no one else would dare make - he left the room with a jaunt in his step.

* * *

><p>Spock picked his way through the rubble, a phaser held ready as he searched for any rebels hiding among the wreckage of the once-proud city on Arnos VIII.<p>

He disliked rebellions. They were messy, time-consuming, and altogether _uncomfortable. _It wasn't as though the rebels' concerns were unjustified, after all. But, he was Starfleet, and this a vital part of his duty. Protect the borders of the Empire, find new territories to conquer, subdue uprisings among the populace. As science officer he generally helped strategize attacks, adapt technology as the situation warranted, and so forth. He also had an obligation to investigate any useful technological advances, such as in weaponry, but those duties were scarce.

He ducked around the remnants of a few uprooted trees that had, perhaps, shadowed the shattered sidewalk. His keen ears detected footsteps, and the phaser he held - set to 'kill' - was positioned in readiness.

"Quickly, quickly!"

Three shapes ran into view, fifty yards away. They ducked low, shuffling along and glancing about themselves anxiously.

One was tall, a woman; her hair was high, tangled in disarray above her head. Her violet eyes were wide with panic and alarm, and her slit nostrils flared with fear. The same features could be seen on the two children. The oldest was a short but weedy male, perhaps eight, tugging along a toddling girl of only a few years; noting this and wondering, he returned his attention to the woman. Ah, yes. Her arm was broken.

He should have killed them.

No mercy was granted to rebels, nor their families. It was a method of preventing uprising, and usually a rather successful one. But this…

Well, it would hardly be the first seditious activity he had engaged in recently, now would it?

In one smooth motion, he leveled the phaser on them and rose. "Halt!"

He expected them to try and flee, at least. Instead, they followed his directive, freezing and staring at him with wide eyes. The mother grabbed her son, clenching his thin shoulders hard, but seemed too shocked to react.

He held the phaser for a long moment, then slowly lowered it. The woman flinched.

"You cannot run this way. There are more officers searching for survivors."

The woman stared, the boy gaped uselessly, and the girl looked between the two, bewildered and plainly terrified.

He moved toward them.

Startled into action, the woman grabbed the boy's shoulder. "Run!" She screeched, shoving the boy forward. He tripped and fell; the girl landed heavily on her knees, and let out a short cry. Terrified, the woman tried to drag them upright, but in fear they resisted her.

Not precisely a logical reaction, but one understandable. Spock quickly moved to their location, though he doubted they could manage to flee. It was a miracle that they had survived thus far; he only hoped no one else had heard her cry.

"I mean you no harm."

She had succeeded in getting them up. They started to stumble away, awkward on the rubble. The woman was sobbing, herding the children before her as they slipped over stone shards.

He caught up easily enough, and grabbed her shoulders. She twisted, struggling, and screeched again. He covered her mouth with his hand. "If I had wanted to kill you," he reasoned, "I could have done so already."

She stiffened.

The children were not moving now. Illogical creatures. But, innocent. "Listen to me carefully," he ordered. "Assuming that your screams have not yet attracted the rest of the searching group, you may still be able to escape. I previously passed a building made of such materials that our sensors are of little use, approximately .512 miles from this location; if you retreat there, and stay silent and hidden, you may yet live. Do you understand?" He carefully took his hand away.

Very slowly, she nodded.

"Quickly."

He released her.

Trembling, she herded the children, and followed.

He took her some half-mile away, to a low, but decently intact building which seemed to have escaped the worst of the Enterprise's assault. "In here. Stay for a minimum of fourteen hours; my ship will have left by then. I do not know the intent of local officers."

He gave her a small pack of his emergency supplies, and turned to leave.

He did not know if she would live. Local soldiers could still find them; furthermore, Kirk's mood was difficult to predict. The explosives they had beamed down, which had heavily damaged the city, only made up a small portion of their supplies; it was not unknown for him to set off a few in farewell as the ship left. But now, she and her children had a chance.

He realized the irony in this, considering he had been the one to override the rebel-city's shielding in the first place.

He opened the broken door, tilting crazily on its hinges, and stepped out -

"Wait!"

He paused, turned his head slightly.

She was staring at him, clutching her children like something precious, slow, stunned euphoria and gratitude in her eyes. "Thank you."

He left.

* * *

><p>"Any problems, Commander?"<p>

"None, Sir."

"Good." Kirk surveyed the planet on the view screen, then shrugged. "Take her out of orbit, Sulu, Warp 2."

It would have been illogical for Spock to feel relief, so he did not.

* * *

><p><strong>*<strong>_**Rigellian, **_**not to be confused with **_**Rigelian. **_**The first race, as seen in this chapter, are descendents of saber-tooth turtles on Rigel III; the latter are vulcanoid-reptilians (or something like that) on Rigel V.**


	3. Chapter 3

**First, thanks to all reviewers, and I apologize to any of the likely-many whom I haven't replied to. My inbox is a scary, scary place, especially when I'm busy for weeks at a time and come back with a few hundred new updates, but I know that's no excuse. I do truly appreciate the feedback! (When I get around to reading it, anyway).**

**I apologize for the long wait… I really did not imagine it would be so long. I've had the first real break in a long time, and came back to look at my stories and set to writing; hopefully I'll be updating more in the coming weeks, and during summer. But don't quote me on that…**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek, nor any of the characters, ideas, places, etc. contained therein; I make no money off this work.**

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><p>Chapter 2<p>

* * *

><p>Those who work in any form of media broadcasting are now wary of him. Security has been tightened on all planets, and while his method of infiltration - hacking - could go undetected, given his skills, it seemed too great a risk to use that method again.<p>

Especially since his last attempt had not _quite _gone as planned.

"They think someone on the Enterprise was involved?" Kirk demanded.

"No, Sir. However, Starfleet Intelligence has found that the transmission which hacked into the Rigellian station was at least bounced from the Enterprise. This does not necessarily mean it came _from _the Enterprise, given the apparent hacking skill of the individual. However, it would be extremely difficult to bypass the usual channels in such a way, which would strongly indicate that the person in question may be somehow affiliated with Starfleet."

"…I see." Kirk frowned heavily. "So what precisely is being asked of you?"

"Mr. Scott and I are to investigate the records at the time of the disturbance, attempt to discover how the infiltration occurred, and, if possible, develop future defenses for whatever program he is using."

Kirk nodded sharply. As long as his ship wasn't suspect in any way, the details didn't matter, and Spock could almost see the interest fade from him. "Very well." He rose, and Spock followed suit. "Get this over with quickly, Commander - I'm getting tired of this nuisance."

"As you say, Sir." He saluted. Kirk mimicked the gesture, then turned on heel and left.

Alone, he contemplated the one difficulty that lay in this situation.

_What shall I do about you, Mr. Scott?_

* * *

><p>At the end of things, Mr. Scott was really the least objectionable presence on the ship. Oh, Spock had a more than tolerable relationship with the captain, but even after their years together, and the rare trust they had forged, Spock knew that the paranoid man may never fully trust him. It was, Spock thought, regrettable. Circumstances had warped his personality. Recalling the earliest days of Kirk's captaincy, he saw similarities with the alternate-Kirk. He wondered if his captain still possessed those traits of honor and compassion, or if they had been entirely consumed by the darkness in their lives.<p>

He rather suspected the latter.

But Mr. Scott was not interested in command, and his life did not hold the same dangers. True, the position of chief engineer of an imperial flagship was by no means a minor position. However, Scotty was widely acknowledged as the best engineer in the fleet - and it was also known that anyone to take that asset from the fleet would quickly find a knife in their back. In any case, engineers were much more likely than those in Command to simply wait for promotion through less messy means.

It was also vital for command structure that both the captain and first officer could trust Mr. Scott, as he was the second officer. As of yet, he had always proven dependable, with few interests in politics outside the engine room. He had warned the captain more than once of impending assassination attempts, and while the engineer was somewhat more leery of Spock, they had no issues working together.

It would be rather regrettable, then, if Mr. Scott needed to be killed.

Despite Spock's earlier words from the captain, he _had _hacked the Rigellian systems from the Enteprise's computers. While he had mostly removed traces of his sabotage from the computer's systems, it was extraordinarily difficult to tamper with the computer's systems permanently. A computer expert - such as Mr. Scott - could eventually find the tampering, and learn that someone on board was responsible. From there it would be a small matter to trace the incident to Spock.

But it was possible, possible, that Mr. Scott would not discover his treachery.

The question, then - should he risk it, or just kill the engineer now?

It would not be questioned. Subordinates would be harshly punished for it, but Spock was no sycophant. If he killed, everybody assumed it was for a good reason - as it always was. Even Kirk would assume that _Scott _had started something, and though he might be displeased he would not truly cause a fuss.

But could he kill so preemptively?

No… no, not any longer. That would entirely contradict his entire message, and something in him rebelled against the thought. It was a foolish risk; logic said that one life was not worth endangering so much…

But was murder logical?

…No, he would give Scott a chance. The engineer would live, for now - and, if he was lucky, he would not find the tampering.

* * *

><p>Naturally, luck was not on Spock's side.<p>

It occurred near the end of their investigation. While 'working' on the computers, Spock had kept carefully alert to every action of the apparently oblivious engineer. They had been close, _so _close, to simply declaring the matter a lost cause and reporting, and then -

"Mr. Spock! Ah think Ah've got something 'ere!"

"Oh?" Spock asked, softly. His fingers twitched toward the agonizer.

"Aye - found the signal, right enough, though the bugger hid it 'right expert - it looks like… " Scott frowned. "Well, tha' can' be right…"

Spock turned his hand from the agonizer, slowly pulling out his dagger.

"I' looks like… like it came _from _the Enteprise."

Scott's fingers were flying rapidly across the instruments, and in low, distracted mumbles he gave the computer orders. His brow furrowed.

"No one on the Enterprise Ah know of could do this," he mused, baffled. "Not 'cept me and yerself, Sir. Mus' be part of the program, but - "

He stopped, dead still, staring at the flickering display.

"What is it, Mr. Scott?" He asked, softly.

And Mr. Scott looked at him.

There was something strange in his gaze, though his face was carefully blank. He looked at Spock as though seeing him for the first time.

"…Nothing, Sir. In fact, Ah think ah was wrong - there's no way to trace the signal at all."

And before Spock could even think to stop him, Scotty was tapping away, wiping the computer's memory of this investigation.

"Ah think we're done here, Commander."

He looked at the dagger in Spock's hand… and frowned. Just a small frown. Not really afraid, just - a little wistful. "Ach, or not." And he sighed, low and heavy, and ruffled his hair. Scott's eyes clenched shut, and his neck bowed, resigned. "Do make it quick, lad."

Spock's mind spun with a hundred different realizations. Scott understood what he had done. Scott had hid it. Scott thought it fully possible that Spock would now kill him for the information he had, and was not arguing, not even trying to call in the just-owed favor. He had hidden the finding, and now expected to die.

Why?

Morals. A belief in something more. He realized, suddenly, that he was looking at something shocking - he was seeing a glimpse into that other-universe, where people sacrificed themselves for ideals greater than any of them, where selfless individuals had died for freedom, had fought for others.

Scott believed in precisely the same thing he did, and, with almost Vulcan-like calm, he was expecting to die for it.

Spock lowered his knife.

Scott's expression remained carefully empty as Spock sheathed the blade.

"We are done here, Mr. Scott."

"Are we?"

Spock eyed him carefully. "For the time being."

There was a heavy pause. Very slowly, Scott smiled.

* * *

><p>It was 0239, ship's time. The blue glare of light on Spock's face highlighted the slight lines of weariness there. It was uncommon for a Vulcan in his prime to feel such weariness, but Spock often went without sleep for extended periods when caught in some experiment, and knew that no one should question his fatigue in the coming week - though of course he expected the customary assassination attempt or two.<p>

This night, however, he was not attending to the typical research or experiments. He was composing a message.

Why, it might be asked, was this message being composed in the middle of the night? Spock was aware the Gamma-Shift Comm. Officer was ill; a rather more negligent officer was on shift, one whom was quite poor at sifting through messages for hidden meanings. Doubtlessly that individual would, in any case, be to leery of calling the wrath of Commander Spock by bringing attention to the oddity of Spock sending messages to a planet slated for attack.

The planet was not being attacked by the Enterprise, of course; if Spock alerted only those planets involved with the Enterprise, he would be found out and disposed of quickly. However, the USS _Bonaparte _was scheduled to attack Enlesa VII in two weeks. Enlesa VII was a planet with fair technological capabilities, but one who had little interest in space travel; therefore, they had not even known of the expansive Terran Empire until Starfleet made contact. Enlesa VII had cheerfully enough consented to trade talks and agreed to send out diplomats, though they warned that they would likely not be willing to exchange more than medical information and the like, as they preferred seclusion overall. In general, though, they seemed perfectly amicable, if reserved.

The Enlesian delegates had arrived at the nearest Starbase for treaty talks, and had been brutally tortured for information before being fed to several captive Gorn.

As far as Spock could tell, the Enlesian's were blissfully unaware of this little fact, and presumed their ambassadors and traders to be off haggling over how this good would be exchanged for that one. In roughly a month, the information Starfleet had acquired would be utilized to stage as assault on the planet, bringing it under the heel of the Terran Empire.

With warning, could this fate be prevented? Unlikely. But Spock would see that they had a fighting chance.

* * *

><p>"Dabo!"<p>

Nerk the Ferengi grimaced at the word that signified lost latinum; but, that was business. He sighed.

His casino was losing, losing, losing. They made barely enough to keep functioning. Nerk knew, by heart, rule zero of the Ferengi Rules of Acquisition; _"Disregard every other rule if the Terran Empire is involved, because a corpse doesn't have any latinum!"_

It was the bitter, prevailing motto of the Ferengi Alliance, or what remained of it, anyway. The 'Alliance' now referred to a very loose support system wherein Ferengi sought to relate the honorable history of the Ferengi traders (and, of course, pass on their most, ah, _necessary _rules to the next generation).

Ah, but what did the Rules matter anymore? Nerk seriously wondered what merit the Rules had in this day and age.

_Rule 62: The riskier the road, the greater the profit! _Well, not from where Nerk was standing. He risked his neck every day just by being an extraterrestrial trying to take money from Terrans, and he had little to show for it.

_Rule 1: Once you have their money, never give it back! _Unless, of course, those individuals were angry Terrans with phasers. Or tax collectors for the Terran Empire. Or, really, anyone with higher standing than a mere Ferengi casino-owner.

_Rule 189: Let others keep their reputation, you keep their profit!_ Well, Nerk was pretty sure he had _neither. _He would have been content with just reputation, at this point… At least that could give him a _chance _of making a profit!

_Rule 18: A Ferengi without profit is no Ferengi at all._

Nerk sighed. Yeah, that one sounded about right.

* * *

><p>"Commander?"<p>

"You wished to speak with me, Mr. Scott?"

"Aye, Sir - privately, if'n ya dinnae' mind."

"Certainly."

Spock followed the engineer down the hall. Despite his relative trust in the engineer, he extended his telepathy, wary for any signs of hostility, and kept himself alert. Soon enough, he found himself ensconced in Mr. Scott's quarters.

The engineer wasn't looking at him, but was half-turned away, staring hard at the wall. "Sir - you cannae deny it any more. You need a good engineer with ya for this."

Spock blinked once. These words were not among any of the possibilities Spock had imagined, and he did not understand them. "Excuse me?"

"I know what your doing, Sir. Not why, maybe - " And Mr. Scott still wasn't looking him in the eye "but, I know. And you're sloppy."

Spock's eyes narrowed.

"You're risking too much, Sir. Oh, you hid your message under layers of code, and compressed it, and sent it with a bumbling fool at communications - but it was risky still, and you know it."

"How are you aware of this?"

And Scott looked at them. "Because Ensign Marn asked me to help him decompress the message, once he realized what it was. He's dead."

Spock processed this. "I see."

"Do ya? You're taking bad risks. An' I ken why."

"Indeed?" Softly.

Dark eyes bored into his. "Ya don't really expect any of it tae mean anything, do ya?"

Spock said nothing.

Scott didn't seem to be awaiting an answer. "Ah' thought not. Well, lemme tell ya, Sir - I think the same. That is, I don't think you're going to change the Empire like this. One man cannae topple centuries of oppression with a snap of 'is fingers. One man cannae face the armies of a thousand worlds with a lecture of peace."

Scott leaned forward, and his eyes glittered with something like madness. "But two men might give it a damn fine try, Sir."

* * *

><p>Nerk shut and locked the casino-door with considerable relief. The casino hadn't made any money that day - had, in fact, lost considerable latinum. As if that were not enough humiliation, one of the humans had killed his barkeep, who was a fellow Ferengi and someone who commiserated with Nerk. He'd had an unfortunately lax mind and was strangely careless of the Rules, but he'd <em>understood. <em>And where could Nerk find another Ferengi, whom he could trust not to steal or cheat him? Nowhere. So now he would be alone, with these humans.

He went to his office and retrieved a phaser. He could be fined heavily for just owning the weapon, being an alien, but he didn't dare let the authorities know of the death or have professionals remove the body; the human responsible for the brawl would go unpunished, but if the officials were particularly xenophobic, they might pretend outrage at the murder and blame it on Nerk for the sole pleasure of having the alien casino-owner executed.

The body was still, silent. The right-arm was held at a strange angle, soaked with Altair Water, Saurian Ale, and other miscellaneous beverages that he had been taking to a table when he'd bumped into the drunk, easily offended human. The Ferengi struck Nerk as young and handsome, in a youthful way, and even his death could not alter that. He had proud, prominent lobes and finely chiseled teeth that peeked out from a half-agape mouth. His sightless eyes, though, were absolutely chilling.

His name was Lark.

Nerk hadn't even _known _Lark long. What did it matter if this stranger died? But, they weren't strangers. Nerk might not know the slightest thing about Lark's personal life… but he _did _know that Lark was Ferengi. Lark knew the Rules, respected them - even if he _was _weird and didn't particularly care for profit.

It seemed like less and less Ferengi wanted profit these days, didn't they? Now it was generally considered enough just to be alive…

That was beside the point. Nerk shook away the thoughts. Aim, point, pull the trigger, and -

He pulled.

The sick scent of ozone filled the air. Nerk's eyes snapped shut, and he took in a deep, shuddering breath. For a long moment, he stood there, in that too-silent room that smelt of beer and ale and _Terran, _and then he opened his eyes.

And stared.

Lark. Right there, on the floor, where he had lain right before Nerk had shot him.

Nerk looked down at the phaser.

It was set to stun.

Brutally, he whipped it at the wall. Even as it hit the wall with a clang of metal, he was running forward to inspect the damage to the weapon. But it was of good quality, and seemed undamaged. He kneeled, cradling the phaser, and found himself trembling.

Right. The body.

Nerk turned back. It was just a body, that was all, nothing anymore, just a body…

But that was just it, wasn't it? A Ferengi body. How could he just destroy it? Rightfully, his body should be sold, cut up, preserved and packaged for sale, so that all who possessed his remains would recall the life of Lark and give honour to one whose death had, in the grand scheme of things, undoubtedly had some butterfly-effect on the economy*.

That was the _Ferengi _tradition. But, by Rule zero…

Well, there was only one decision, wasn't there?

With strangely fumbling fingers, Nerk switched the phaser to kill. He aimed.

Rule zero. Rule zero. A corpse doesn't have any latinum, and he could very well become a corpse if he waited to remove the body.

_Rule zero, Rule zero, _he told himself - and couldn't pull the trigger.

Sweat trailed down his forehead. Rule zero, Rule zero - why couldn't he do it, why…?

Unbidden words flashed before his mind;

_Rule 21: Never place friendship above profit!_

And before he knew it, the tension was released, and in a flash and burn the body had vanished, gone without a trace.

He decided it might be better for his health if he didn't think about the implications of any of this too much…

* * *

><p><strong>*No, that is not some morbid ritual I made up… I was looking up Ferengi culture, and for those who weren't aware it's apparently legitimate Ferengi tradition. In the <strong>_**normal **_**universe…**

**They also make holy pilgrimages to Wall Street, according to Wikipedia, so idk…**

**I sort of got **_**really**_** into the Nerk piece. I've only just been able to start watching Star Trek Deep Space Nine for the first time **_**ever**_** (yay Netflix!) and I decided by the sixth or seventh episode that Ferengi are way more awesome than portrayed in Next Gen. Seeing Quark makes me grin with manic glee. My family may become concerned if this continues. XD**

**(pssst...May be seeing Nerk more in the future... hint, hint...)**


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